


Can't Pull Away

by saintjoy



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Humanstuck, Implied Sexual Content, Imprisonment, M/M, One-Sided Relationship, Past Abuse, Past Character Death, Past Relationship(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-06
Updated: 2013-08-06
Packaged: 2017-12-22 14:19:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,359
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/914211
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saintjoy/pseuds/saintjoy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's been years since you tried to break it off, but in reality no matter what you've been through there's nothing you can do to stop yourself from gravitating back to him despite how many times Jake tells you not to.<br/>Maybe you're just a masochist.<br/>Maybe you're just hoping that one day he'd be better.<br/>He has yet to prove you right, from the other end of the police station phone and on the other side of the plexiglass.<br/>(You hate yourself for hoping he has another sister to kill so he doesn't come after you next.)</p>
<p>(Written for the HSWC Bonus Round 4)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Can't Pull Away

The chilly air is hard on your skin and burns your chapped lips. You're still sore from last night, your usual swagger toned down to a humble stride. English has a big cock on him. You never complain, and never will. You shove your hands into your pockets as you walk down the concrete sidewalk with your bus pass between your teeth. He's still sleeping in your bed, the adorable bastard, cuddled up in your blankets to shield his naked body from the cold air of your apartment. You made breakfast for him and left it in the oven and wrote a note and left it taped to the plate; you make sure to turn off your cellphone, because he knows where you're going, doesn't like it, and will try to call you back. You know if he does you'll gravitate back to his arms under the blankets and fall asleep, trying to forget this shit you've been in for longer than you remember.

 

The bus comes just as the clouds open up with a repulsive downpour of sleet that makes the roads slick and icier than before. You aren't so lucky to be spared entirely from the storm before you board, but you head to the back of the bus and the heater is on and it warms you enough for you to take your gloves off. You'd have to hide them away once you got there, because Jake bought them for you. You pull on your fingerless gloves instead, the ones you wore before when you thought them cool--you still kind of do, but most of the time when you're in your blacksmithing shop you can't wear them; your thick leather gauntlets that go up to your elbows are the proper attire. It's only 15 minutes until the bus stops again, just for you, in front of the prison you've unfortunately become so familiar with.

 

The secretary greets you with a friendly smile with that shred of suspicion seeping through. You expect it at this point. She presses a button under her desk and two goons in blue uniforms come by with equally friendly and suspicious grins to take you to the office. Sign-in papers, confirmation papers, stamps on hands, your bag taken and thoroughly inspected. It's sickly hot in here. At least they let you hang up your coat before you walk into the too-familiar room they'd long since specified for you. The goons hang around the door with arms crossed behind their backs as you walk forward and sit down at the desk with the phone stuck to the wall. The other side of the plexiglass before you is empty. A goon informs you he's running a little late. You wait.

 

He arrives in that putrid orange suit he's worn without washing for at least a couple of weeks, you can tell. The green tattoo on his face is disturbing as ever, spines of the skull-like pattern extending down to his chin. He aims a cocky smirk at you; you make no expression back as you pick up the phone and gesture for him to as well. "You have half an hour," Goon #2 reminds you as if you've never been told before. You nod in his direction, and he's the first to speak.

"It's been a while, Dirk," he rasps out. "I've missed you." His burgundy irises glare at you in that expectant, wild way he always had. You cough.

"Caliborn," you reply. "I couldn't say the feeling isn't mutual."

"Stop with the double negatives. They're confusing and stupid." He sits back in his chair and you hear his chains clink over the phone. "Just spit out what you mean. Quit beating around the bush."

"Oh, but you know that's how I am. Can hardly refrain from pulling out all these double negatives and quadruple negatives and off-the-charts metaphors I come up with simply for the purpose of puzzling you. It's fun."

"You know what's fun? Imagining you here with me. Doing scandalous things. In a dark corner, all by ourselves. Although. You have always been an exhibitionist. Disgusting." Before you can speak, he slams his fists down on his desk and rattles the plexiglass. "You're still with that English dude, aren't you?" You don't respond. He spits. "I knew it. Of course you moved on. But little do you know. That you'll always come back to me."

You change the subject. "How long until your sentence ends?"

He frowns. "You know." You do know. "And I deserve none of it. She was shit anyways."

"Your sister was a renowned scientist, Cal."

"Don't call me that. It's disgusting and too affectionate."

"I thought you liked affection." A dark blush shows through even his tattoos. "Your face is red."

"Shut the fuck up."

"You have twenty minutes left, Mr. Strider," Goon #1's voice tells you from behind your head. You ignore it and continue talking to the man on the other side of the glass. He continues the conversation first.

"Admit it. You still have all those feelings for me."

"In all honesty, it's hard to when one, you murdered your twin sister, two, you're in jail for it for another twenty-five years, and three, I'm already." He'll flip ten shits if you say it out loud. You probably don't even have to for him to at this point.

"Already _what_?" His hands with nails like claws are gripping the desk. You purse your chapped lips and shift in your seat. Your legs are crossed. "Do tell, Dirk. I'd be interested in hearing all of what you have to say." You disobey and remain silent. His hands come away from the desk and he's sitting back in his seat again. "Let's play a game, for old time's sake."

"The plexiglass isn't some figment of your imagination, sorry to tell you." You knock on the plastic wall for emphasis. "Can't be passing cards back and forth through this." He pouts and you swear your heart flutters. You don't know if it was lying to you or not.

"Fine. Then let's just sit here. And stare at each other."

"Sensually."

"Erotically." A pause barely gets to settle before you're both cracking up and snorting like you're teenagers who just drew dicks on the 3rd floor boy's bathroom wall in high school. You know one of the goons tells you you have 10 minutes left at one point, but you can't find it in your heart to worry about that. The laughter dies down, and he's serious again. "You still love me."

"Caliborn--"

"You will come back to me. Once I'm out of here. And if you don't. I will make sure that you will." A cold shiver runs down your spine. "I won't hurt you. I would never hurt you, Dirk. I would, though, hurt anyone who tried to hurt you by taking you from me."

"Five minutes."

"And you'll be in my arms again. And we'll be happy like that. Do you understand, Dirk?" You purse your lips together and they burn in response, and your stomach does flip-flops that make you want to vomit.

"Yeah," you choke out. The scarred bruises on your hips ache.

"My little rabbit. Just for me."

"Three minutes."

"You'll come back sooner next time." It isn't a question. "And we will be able to talk longer. Perhaps I could introduce you to a couple of friends. One is named Gamzee. He is. An idiot. But a decent companion." You nod in silence. "Not as decent as you were. Although, there is always more to be improved upon. I'm sure the example I made of my sister is a perfect display of--"

"Time's up. Say your goodbyes and hang up." You don't say anything as you slam the phone back into the cradle and give Caliborn a mere wave as you're ushered out of the room by the goons. The dark smirk on his face only fades away when you're up against Jake's chest under the warm covers at home, shuddering and shivering and not saying a thing as the eternally quiet tears force their way out of your eyes.

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt by Team Dirkuu friendleader [fickle](http://forceofconviction.tumblr.com/).


End file.
